NewStats: 3,263,697 , 8,181,057 topics. Date: Saturday, 07 June 2025 at 11:12 AM 71192z

A Knock in the Night









The journey of life for Funmi is a tough one. She has to do all sorts of odd things to survive, including commercial sex hawking.
The biggest challenges are that at the peak of her happiness, there are knocks at the door in the night that shatter everything.






Saturday evenings had a regular sound of their own in the city—rushed, chaotic, and a little desperate. By six o’clock, the streets around Unity Road, along Ago Palace Way, were already humming with life: street vendors yelling over each other, music spilling from loudspeakers of nearby shops, and the clamor of weekend freedom slowly building to a crescendo. But I wasn’t part of that world. Not really.

I had claimed my usual corner seat in Galaxy Bar, a dimly lit but stylish place that balanced between being lively and discreet. I always chose that particular spot—close enough to the door for visibility, far enough from the spotlight to be ignored by the uninterested. The scent of beer, sweat, and old leather furniture filled the air. A live football match boomed from the massive wall-mounted television screen, complete with wild cheers and o groans from a mostly male crowd.

I barely noticed the game. My eyes skimmed the room occasionally, but I remained mostly still, sipping from a green bottle of 7 Up. I didn’t drink alcohol. I couldn’t afford to do so—not when I needed my senses sharp.

I was there for business, after all. Yes, the real hustle business. The kind of business that required smiles that weren’t real, names that weren’t yours, and charm that was more calculated than felt.

My name tonight? It would be Ella.

It always worked—soft, feminine, non-threatening. It rolled off the tongue easily and left a lingering sweetness in the minds of men. In truth, I had retired my real name a long time ago. What use was it when the world only saw what I chose to present?

I crossed my legs slowly, subtly adjusting the slit in my black skirt. My skirt was not too short, but it was short enough to reveal my thighs, which men often commended. The top too was not too revealing. It was quite transparent enough to show the outline of my wellpadded bra, but nothing beyond that. Oh, well, it also showed the cleavage. I must say I was used to men staring at my busts.

So, my dressing was nothing too flashy—just enough to catch wandering eyes. I glanced at the entrance. The door creaked open and in walked a man I had noticed before.

Gab. That wasn’t his real name either, I suspected at first.

Men like him wore layers of pretense like cologne. He was tall, with a confident stride and the casual arrogance of someone who never had to work too hard for anything. The last few times I’d seen him here, he was flanked by ladies who hung off his every move like ornaments. But tonight, he was alone.

He scanned the room—and then his eyes landed on me. And stayed there. He smiled. Not the sleazy grin of drunk desperation, but the calculated smile of someone used to getting what they wanted.

He approached smoothly, pulled out the chair opposite mine without waiting for an invitation, and sat.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he said. His voice was deep, oiled with charm.

I looked up, offering the faintest of polite smiles. “Good evening.”

“I’m Gab,” he said, leaning forward with the ease of a practiced flirt. “Can I meet you, please?”

“You may,” I replied softly. “Call me Ella.”

He chuckled. “Ella. Now that’s a name that fits. Sweet and mysterious.” He paused. “Your parents chose well.”

I almost laughed. The irony was too much. If only he knew. Ella was as real as the diamonds in my earrings—which were, by the way, cubic zirconia.

“Thank you,” I said.

He gestured toward my drink. “Mineral? On a day like this?”

Before I could respond, he snapped his fingers at a bar attendant, who came rushing over like a trained pup. Gab didn’t look at the man, only muttered, “One Gulder for me, and give the lady whatever she wants. Fast.”

The attendant turned expectantly to me.

“Another bottle of 7 Up, please.”

Gab raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He shrugged, amused.

The drinks came quickly. He downed a gulp of his beer and turned his full attention to me. The small talk began: the usual banter, laced with subtle assessments. He asked what I did, where I was from, what I liked. I dodged and redirected like a seasoned tennis player, giving just enough to seem open, but never enough to reveal anything real.

Eventually, the veil dropped.

“How much for it?” he asked, bluntly.

I leaned back, nonchalant. “Depends on what you want.”

I then went on to mention the packages and their prices

Interesting piece. Please keep it coming.

IkeIgboNiile:
Interesting piece. Please keep it coming.

Aunty wura will not keep it coming, but again needs to earn off her hardwork

He nodded. “I’ll take your number. Maybe another day we do something longer, okay? Today... I’m short on time.” He smirked. “So let’s make it short.”

Short-time it was. He drained his bottle and stood up, slipping a few bills on the table with practiced ease.

“Let’s go to the manager and get a room,” he said.

I followed him, heels clicking softly behind his long strides. The manager barely looked up as Gab dropped money on the counter—he’d done this before. A key was handed over like a secret. Room 7.

Inside the ageway, my mind slowed down. I wasn’t nervous. Not anymore. I had done this too many times. But I was alert. Always. That was the difference between those of us who lasted and those who didn’t.

The room smelled faintly of stale cologne and cheap disinfectant. Faint outlines of old stains remained on the curtains, like shadows of past encounters that didn’t want to be forgotten. The lighting was dim, forgiving.

I walked in behind him and shut the door softly.

This was one of the rooms I had been in before. The bed creaked the same way. The mirror was still cracked at the edge. I had seen men of all kinds here—young, old, married, drunk, aggressive, shy. Some were gentle, others careless. A few were cruel.

My eyes had seen much in this business. My body had endured a lot.

And yet, every time I stepped into one of these rooms, a part of me stood back—detached, watching. Waiting. Wondering when, or if, I would ever walk into a room like this and feel nothing at all.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I was Ella. And Ella had work to do.


***


The air was lusty. You could smell the faint muskiness of sex. The room was dim, with peeling curtains and that all-too-familiar smell of cheap air freshener and maybe smoke. I had been here before. Too many times.

Gab wasted no time. We undressed, it was time to get down to business. It wasn’t the worst I’d had—not by a long shot. But he was not gentle as he rushed things, like a man trying to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of a ticking clock.

The way he squeezed my breasts was rough. It was if he had never touched breasts before. The sexual act itself was too physical. The condom softened the impact, but I had to pray it would not burst.

I let him take what he wanted. I was used to men like him.

The first time was quick. The second, more demanding. He was sweating by the end of it, panting like a runner. By the third round, I could tell something was off.

His breathing grew heavy—too heavy. Not the tired moans I’d heard a thousand times, but something deeper. Desperate.

He pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his chest. I sat up slowly, watching him.

“Hope nothing?” I said cautiously. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer. His skin had gone pale, and his mouth opened, gasping for air. His eyes darted wildly for a moment, and then—just like that—he collapsed backward onto the bed.

“Gab?” I said louder, already feeling the first stabs of panic. I grabbed his arm. Limp.

“Gab!”